


You are the Eye (of My Storm)

by lonniek



Series: Spastic, Bombastic, and Utterly Delectable [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College Student Stiles, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek is afraid of storms, Fluff, M/M, POV Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4151529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonniek/pseuds/lonniek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles pulled the door open just after six in the morning, and the birds were chirping just outside of the window, oblivious to the fact that it had been raining for a week, the sunshine was probably temporary, and Derek had only been sleeping for about an hour. It was the key in the lock that drove Derek from his nap, and his neck snapped up. He was disoriented that his head was facing the wrong way for sleep, and the conversation he’d had hours earlier washed back over him. Derek smiled; Stiles was here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You are the Eye (of My Storm)

**Author's Note:**

> Part two of the Spastic, Bombastic, and Utterly Delectable universe. Apparently I only write in this 'verse when there are thunderstorms plaguing my area. With love, and for my dearest, darlingest [erisgregory](http://erisgregory.tumblr.com).

In the wake of the conversation he’d just had with Stiles, Derek pushed away from the computer and laughed. It was a sound that was louder than the tinkling of the leftover rain water on the loft windows, and it made him feel warmer than he’d felt in a long time. Stiles, the same Stiles he’d tried to convince himself to ignore because he was nothing but trouble before going off to college, felt the same way that he did. And he was on his way over right now. Because Derek had sent him a message in which he admitted that he was scared shitless of the thunderstorm that was keeping him up all hours of the night.

Derek shut off his computer and turned off the lamp on the edge of the lamp, groaning as he stretched and padded barefoot to his bed. Now that it was quiet, the plush comforter and the soft, inviting mattress were no longer a trap. He yawned and scrubbed at his eyes, lying on his stomach facing the door, waiting for it to open to Stiles, wet from the rain where he wouldn’t have bothered to open an umbrella in his desire to get inside. The thought made him smile, and he figured that he could just close his eyes for a second to entertain that fantasy. He was asleep the second his cheek touched the spongy comfort of the top sheet, a week of storms, bad dreams, and sleep deprivation proving to be just a little more than he could handle.

Stiles pulled the door open just after six in the morning, and the birds were chirping just outside of the window, oblivious to the fact that it had been raining for a week, the sunshine was probably temporary, and Derek had only been sleeping for about an hour. It was the key in the lock that drove Derek from his nap, and his neck snapped up. He was disoriented that his head was facing the wrong way for sleep, and the conversation he’d had hours earlier washed back over him. Derek smiled; Stiles was here.

The scent of him was the next thing to aid Derek in his being awake. It was the smell of coffee and cinnamon and vanilla and oak, and of all of the teenage hormones that Derek liked to tease him about. Derek took a deep breath as Stiles took his first step into the loft and sighed, opening his eyes and made out a sleep-blurred Stiles creeping out of his shoes and trying to tip-toe across the expanse of hardwood floor. After watching Stiles, amused at the painfully awkward movements, Derek cleared his throat. Stiles’ head snapped up from where he was shuffling across the floor in his socks, a blush climbing up his neck.

“I’ve been awake since your key hit the lock,” Derek told him, a yawn betraying his speech. Sure, he was up, but Derek conceded with himself that he wasn’t really awake.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Stiles said, walking the rest of the short distance to the bed. He hesitated for a moment before Derek rolled over and sat up, giving Stiles a place to sit.

“I told you I didn’t mind if you did,” Derek reminded him, rubbing his palms over the scruff on his cheeks and trying to be awake enough for a real conversation. The fog in his mind refused to clear, though, and he reached out one hand to settle on the back of Stiles’ neck. It was warm under his hand, not drenched in water like he’d imagined it would be. He drew them closer together until their foreheads pressed together. “It’s not raining anymore.”

“Does that mean you rescind your offer of a cuddle buddy? Because I did just speed all the way down here to protect you from terrifying thunder and to help you sleep. So if you’re taking it all back, I’m not gonna lie, I’ll be a little bit pissed off. Well, a lot, really, considering that it’s like six in the morning and—”

“Stiles.” Derek missed being able to see the way that Stiles’ jaw snapped shut when Derek said his name. He wanted to catalog that motion, and every single other move and sound that Stiles made. He tried to think of something to say, something witty that would render the other man silent once the shock of his own name on Derek’s lips wore off. “Nevermind. Too tired. Just gonna…” He trailed off in favor of pulling Stiles the last few inches closer, pressing their lips together. Stiles’ lips were almost cold, and he could feel the little cupid’s bow against his fuller upper lip as Stiles kissed him back, scrambling to get a little more comfortable, a little closer. Derek smiled into the kiss and took Stiles’ hand to bring it up to his waist. With it there, he seemed more anchored, and they kissed lightly, softly, more intimately than Derek had known in a long time, until Stiles pulled back to whistle between his teeth.

“You were serious when you said that you were going to kiss me the next time you saw me, weren’t you?” Stiles whispered, his voice reverent, like he was afraid that he was going to wake up any minute from a dream he wasn’t quite ready to give up yet. Derek kissed him again, a soft peck, and nodded.

“Have more planned, too,” he mumbled, contentment making him sleepy again. The exhaustion in his bones weighed on him heavy and he cautioned a glance at the sky. While it was sunny, clouds loomed in the distance. “But I’m too tired to do anything but sleep right now. I fell asleep while I was waiting for you,” he said, and Stiles nodded at him like he understood perfectly.

“I believe I was promised wonderful werewolf cuddles,” Stiles insisted, breaking their embrace and whispered conversation to pull at the comforter. Derek’s hand on his wrist stilled him, and Stiles looked at him, confused and expectant.

“You mean to tell me you’re going to go to bed in jeans and a button down?” Derek rolled out of bed and pulled off his sweats and tank top unceremoniously, leaving him in a pair of soft grey boxer-briefs. “Let me undress you,” he offered once he was thoroughly embarrassed by the way that Stiles was staring at him. Smelling the want and the unconcealed desire and sharper feelings of affection felt invasive, but Derek couldn’t _not_ feel them. Stiles, eager in all things, bounded off the bed so quickly that he fell, and Derek had to dart to the left to grab him by the back of his shirt so he didn’t smash his face against the floor.

“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek admonished softly, smiling as he righted him and letting his hands linger even after he was settled. Stiles blushed and looked away, but Derek tilted his head up and kissed him again, then set about peeling the button-down flannel off of him in an achingly slow motion. Derek was silent, in awe at how the sun reflected through the loft to cast Stiles in a soft, heavenly light. Stiles shivered at Derek’s hands underneath his shirt, but said nothing, understanding the sacred moment that passed between them. Once Stiles’ shirt was pushed up under his chest, Derek pulled it up and off, letting it land in the same pile as his overshirt. He sucked in a deep breath as he saw Stiles’ chest again, but for the first time. He’d seen Stiles shirtless, shivering, wounded, after lacrosse, but this was the first time that Derek had permission to stare. And he did, running his fingers tentatively over each and every prominent freckle on his skin and skittering along the secondary marks, almost too light to see. Derek longed to kiss and lick together new constellations against Stiles’ skin, but the sleep that threatened to tug him under with each slow, languid movement stored the idea away for another time.

Stiles was the one to inhale softly when Derek dropped to his knees. It was a shocked, quiet gasp that Derek took to mean he’d imagined it, too, what it would be like for Derek to be on his knees for Stiles. Derek smiled up at him and pressed a kiss to his hip bone. Stiles’ stomach tightened as he quivered, and Derek kissed the other side to match before unbuttoning Stiles’ jeans. He unhooked each part of the zipper tooth by tooth, so slowly and quietly that Stiles questioned whether or not he could hear the mechanical sound of the metal pulling against metal. And then cool air hit the tops of Stiles’ thighs and he looked down to where Derek was slowly revealing inch after inch of skin.

“Who knew Derek Hale, king of the ‘I just ate bad spinach’ glare, was such a romantic?” Stiles huffed to cover up his embarrassment at being stared at like he belonged in a museum. Derek snorted softly.

“It’s not my fault,” Derek countered in a voice that made Stiles breathless. “You’re beautiful.” And he was. His skin was tanned from countless beach trips that Derek watched from Facebook, and he seemed to be more comfortable in his own skin, no longer just fumbling limbs and biting sarcasm. They weren’t far from the surface, but Stiles was growing into a young man, angled planes and confidence becoming his defining qualities. Derek returned his attention to Stiles’ jeans, and once they were pooled around his ankles, Derek stood again and pushed Stiles in the center of his chest, forcing him onto the bed. Stiles went with a soft thump against the mattress, and Derek took his time to pull the denim off of Stiles’ legs like that, pulling off his socks as well. Then, after one last lingering look over Stiles’ body, Derek crawled up over Stiles and rolled into the empty space on the bed.

Stiles made a questioning sound as to why he was still in his boxers, and Derek yawned and pulled down the covers, shuffling until he was just a small tuft of hair against pillows. “If I take off anything else, I’m not going to sleep, and if I try to blow you this tired, I’ll probably bite your dick off,” Derek muttered. Stiles chuckled and crawling into bed with Derek, turning his back so that Derek could snuggle up to him, but at Derek’s soft whine of disapproval, rolled back over to face him.

“First of all, that sound is not fair at all. Second of all, what could I possibly have done to offend you to make you make that sound? And third, how can I get you to never make it again?” The sound must have been truly pitiful for the way that Stiles’ wide eyes glistened in the thin veil of sunlight that touched the bed.

“I want to kiss you until I fall asleep,” Derek said and swore that he wasn’t really pouting, but Stiles leaned in and kissed the lips, and Derek melted into the touch. They kissed softly, lazily, their arms and legs tangling with each other’s until Derek stilled under Stiles’ touch. Stiles pulled back a little bit as Derek’s breathing evened into a sound that wasn’t heavy enough to be a snore, and smiled. Derek’s face, relaxed and serene like this, was like seeing the face of God reflected in a person. Stiles felt warmth spread across his chest and closed his eyes, letting Derek’s sleep leech his own energy, falling asleep cradled in strong, warm arms.

Stiles woke up to Derek jerking awake a few hours later. They were bathed in darkness, and instantly, Stiles was drenched in Derek’s sweat. A crack of lightning opened up the sky, a bolt of lightning that acted like it had killed the sun and left only darkness in its wake, and Derek trembled, his back facing Stiles as he closed in on himself.

“It’s just lightning, it’s just lightning, it’s just lightning,” Derek whispered over and over to himself, frantic and afraid, utterly unaware of Stiles’ presence beside him. Stiles shifted and put a hand on Derek’s shoulder. Derek flinched at the contact, but it brought him back to the present, back to Stiles.

“Hey, big guy,” Stiles whispered, coming closer. Stiles’ ankle touched Derek’s, creating another point of contact until they were pressed together. Derek’s heart pounded in his chest and he felt clammy pressed against Stiles’ warmth, but the violent shivers subsided as another wave of thunder passed over the loft. Derek flung his hands up to cover his ears and Stiles felt his heart tug in his chest. “Derek, look at me.” Derek whimpered, and Stiles’ heart shattered. “Look at me, buddy. Come on.” Reluctantly, Derek removed himself from Stiles’ warmth and turned around, looking like a frightened child under the covers.

“I hate this part,” Derek whispered, his throat dry and scratchy. Stiles saw the flash of lighting in the distance.

“Count with me,” he said, holding up a finger for every second that the thunder didn’t come. “One, two, three, four.” Derek counted along with him, tapping his own fingers on Stiles’ thigh underneath the blanket. It was the same way Stiles counted when he was still trying to figure out what was real and what wasn’t, Derek realized.

“Thank you,” he whispered, when they reached seven and the thunder rolled through the clouds. When he was anticipating it with Stiles, it wasn’t as awful, it didn’t sound quite so much like the whip-crack of fire burning through wood, didn’t carry the echoes of his family. Here, with Stiles in his bed, it was just a storm, just thunder and lightning.

“My mom used to sing to me when we would have thunder storms,” Stiles said after a moment, and Derek was used to the sticky-sweet smell of fond sadness that gathered around Stiles when he talked about his mother. “Right in my ear, so that all I could hear was her voice.” Derek unwound from his ball, wrapping his arms around Stiles and reveling in the comfort he found there while the storm raged around them with renewed vigor. “She only ever sang one song, Amazing Grace. And she only knew like one verse, and after she would get tired of singing she would just hum until I fell asleep, and probably after that, too.”

“Sing to me, Stiles.” Stiles made a soft sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, and pressed his lips against Derek’s ear.

“Amazing grace,” he started, and his voice was soft and just a little scratchy in Derek’s ear. Derek shivered, knowing that later he would have about a thousand and four more fantasies to add to his collection of all things Stiles, the way that his lips felt across his ear heading up the list. But the longer that Stiles sang, the more soothing his voice became, the more it drowned out the sound of the wind beating against the windows. The storm wasn’t coming for him. Derek relaxed and closed his eyes, breathlessly humming the melody as Stiles sang the first verse of the song over and over in his ear.

As he fell asleep next, between Stiles’ breaths, Derek smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on [tumblr](http://demigirlisaaclahey.tumblr.com) so we can commiserate about fluffy Sterek!


End file.
